A Hint of Uncertainty
by Aenigmata
Summary: Mal/Inara. One of two sequels to my other fic, Defining Moments. The end could have gone two ways: this is the fluffier version. Read, review, and enjoy!


_A.N.: One of two sequels to Defining Moments, my other story. This one is the fluffier version of what happened at the end of said story (emphasis on the 'er' as angst seems to be my calling). Mal/Inara. Not mine, I just play with them._

_A special thanks to my amazing roommate beta! _

_Reviews are like alpaca wool: they make me feel all warm and fuzzy!_

There weren't many things that drove Malcolm Reynolds to speechlessness.

But the sight of the last whisper of his soul being swathed in blue silks and bathed in several hundred flowers made him forget the meaning of words.

It wasn't so much the ethereal looking scene made possible by a sudden explosion of a cart peddling roses and the loud crash that caught his attention, but the small gun that was being returned to its leather holster through the high (and extremely revealing) slit in Inara's silky blue dress that provided a nice view of her tanned thigh. His mouth lolled open in what was probably an extremely dumb-founded manner.

There was just something about Inara and firearms that seemed to make his heart leap to his throat and his thoughts bodily ripped from his mind.

Inara bent down to pick up the bag of money that the vendor had thrown at her, allowing Mal a spectacular view of her very revealing dress. He swallowed hard. Perhaps bodily was not a good adverb to be thinking about at this juncture. Especially since he was distinctly aware of her slightly amused glance and that Jayne was looking the way Jayne usually looked and just begging for a slap to the back of the head for his pains.

"Aw, Mal, no harm in lookin'. Just touchin' ain't free."

No it certainly wasn't. His ability to touch her had come at a high price paid in full in blood, regret, and tears. Nothing like getting shot through self-sacrifice to get those pesky feelings out in the open. Not that he had returned the favor. Thought on it while she was lying there on the cold slab of infirmary bed recovering after surgery. Tried it out a few times too just to see if the words could even roll off his tongue, the throes of death encouraging the soliloquies he repeated to her still form. He'd forgotten how the words tasted. Bittersweet with a hint of uncertainty; a mixture that could intoxicate him with only a thought and leave him utterly and blissfully blind in its wake.

And yet his tongue was leading a rebellion any Browncoat would be proud of.

The cocking of several guns, and the nearby shouts that had come from Inara and her abilities of 'persuasion' broke Mal out of his momentary stupor.

"Seems to me that the doc ain't the only one with a gift for makin' friends," he said sardonically though with a lopsided smile, as he grabbed Inara's hand and whipped out his gun.

"He insulted me. I hit him," Inara replied teasingly, mimicking the words he had said to her all those months ago. She shrugged in a way that was reminiscent of his own flippant body language, a testament to the amount of time that they were spending together and a flare of pride rose in him. "It isn't like I did anything drastic. He was the one who dove under the cart because he saw my gun."

"Sorry to disappoint you, darlin', but I don't think it was you the good man was worried about," Mal said, nodding towards some very heavily armed men that were walking towards the cart quickly, the vendor underneath letting out a stream of Chinese curses as he comically pushed the cart from underneath it towards an alley. "Jayne."

They slipped silently through a back alley, and retreated toward the dying sun that was casting a warm glow on the streets and lighting up Inara's bronzed skin beautifully. He snuck a glance down at their intertwined hands, just to make sure that what he was feeling was her soft hand and not one of the blankets he had very nobly confiscated (after all, who knew what sort of germs and diseases were crawling around on that piece of finery that was being aired out on the unsanitary railing outside her shuttle?) She noticed his stare and tugged at his hand, her eyes glimmering warmly and her smile concealing all that was her mystery.

He smiled back, content for once to just accept that he was losing the ongoing battle over whether or not this--being inordinately happy--was allowed or safe. Whether this momentary truce that he and Inara had would be shattered in the wake of their own doing.

He didn't rightly care as Inara kissed him lightly on the cheek, the shadow of _Serenity_ throwing her features into artistic contrast, and whispered, "We're home."

And that fact alone was something.


End file.
